The First Day of Classes
by metro.max
Summary: It's the first day of classes, and Oliver Wood is in for one talkative surprise. [complete]
1. Of Rescuing A Distressed Damsel

**Disclaimer:** It's all Jo's.

**Author's Notes:** I don't know why I bother, as every time I sit down to write about Katie and Oliver, it never seems to turn out as a romance. But nonetheless, I thought this would be an interesting little insight into the first time Oliver and Katie met. This piece will have four (or perhaps five) parts.

And, if you would, **review**. Make someone (me) smile today. ((winkwink))

_Alisa_

**_The First Day of Classes_**

_**((of rescuing a distressed damsel))**_

Oliver Wood hated the first day of classes. It involved getting up at a ridiculous hour, shoving food down your throat even though you're not very hungry, and then shuffling off to be locked in a room with dozens of other grumpy students and an irritable teacher where all you do is daydream about crawling back into your still-warm bed.

So far today, Oliver had managed to avoid the first two of those three things.

His Quaffle alarm clock—which would have normally played the Puddlemere United team anthem—had not gone off that morning, nor had his fellow roommates been bothered enough to wake him. Consequently, Oliver did not wake up until there were only ten minutes of breakfast left. Needless to say, he missed that as well.

Oliver had quickly thrown on the rumpled robes at the foot of his four-poster that he had worn the day before, gargled some toothpaste-y water to save time, and shoved whatever books he could reach into his black bag. He was halfway out the portrait hole when he realized he wasn't wearing any trainers, so he had to go back for those as well, and to top it all off, his stomach gurgled and a pang of hunger hit him.

It was just not his day.

Just as he was shoving socks on his feet did the bell to signal the beginning of classes ring. He swore loudly and a few sixth years with the hour off turned to stare disapprovingly at him.

He was late for the first day of school. McGonagall was going to kill him.

Not even bothering to pull his trainers on, he swung his bag over his shoulder, nearly tipping in the process, and bolted through the portrait hole.

Around the fifth floor he realized he was going the entirely wrong way. Admitting defeat, he dropped to the floor and began to pull his trainers on. It was then that he heard it.

It was a soft whimpering sound, so quiet he wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it, but—there! There it was again! Then he realized—it was the sound of crying.

One trainer on his foot, laces still undone, and the other dangling from his hand, he pushed himself up.

"Hello?" he called quietly into the seemingly empty corridor. The crying stopped. There was shuffling.

Suddenly he noticed something. At the feet of the statue of Gregory the Smarmy was the crumpled figure of a girl, her wild tangle of hair spread around her shoulders, her wide, watery eyes staring at him.

Oliver shifted and took another step forward. "Erm… hello," he offered. "What're you doing?"

She sniffed and said in a very small voice, "I'm lost."

"Oh. Well—uh—what class do you have?"

She wiped her face on her sleeve. "Charms," she said.

"Well… I could take you there if you'd like," Oliver offered. He was late enough as if was, but why not help a little lost first year? He was sure to get detention anyway, and he had only missed a few minutes of class… why not skive off a bit more while he had the chance?

"Okay," she murmured, and gathered up her heavy-looking bag on one shoulder. She tipped under the weight.

Oliver was at her side in an instant. "Why don't you let me carry that," he said, and took the bag from her before she could say a word.

"Oh, hold on," he said suddenly, after they'd taken only a few steps. He dropped both their bags with a _thunk_ that echoed in the long corridor, then sat on top of his own. He pulled his trainer on his foot and tied the laces of both shoes.

"Why weren't you wearing shoes?"

Oliver looked up, surprised that the girl had spoken. Now that her tears were dry and her fears were dispersed, she looked curious and alert. He had to pause for a moment to recall her question.

"I woke up late," he said. "I didn't have time to put them on."

"Oh." They stared at each other for a moment, then she said, "Are you going to take me to Charms?"

"Oh, right, of course," muttered Oliver, quickly standing and grabbing the bags. They set off down the corridor.

"You don't have to carry my bag, you know," she said, keeping perfect stride with him, looking about curiously.

"It's nothing," said Oliver, though he'd forgotten how heavy a first-year bag could be.

"If you say so," she said, and kicked at her too-long robes as they walked down a flight of stairs.

They passed a window overlooking the Quidditch pitch and paused to admire the playing field. The sun was shining weakly over the sparkling green grass.

"Do you play Quidditch?" the girl asked, her eyes taking in the field eagerly.

"Of course," was Oliver's reply.

"I'm going to be a Chaser next year," she told him seriously. "You're a Gryffindor, aren't you?"

Oliver nodded as they walked on again.

"Oh, excellent! Then we'll be on the same team!"

"What makes you so sure you'll make the team?" Oliver asked bemusedly.

"My Pa says I've got the best right hoop shot he's ever seen, and let me tell you, he's seen a lot of Quidditch," she said, and laughed.

"How d'you know he's not just saying that?" Oliver questioned. He adjusted the shoulder strap that was cutting into his skin.

She waved a hand. "Oh, my Pa would never lie to me, 'specially about Quidditch. He wants me to make the house team like he did."

Oliver nodded as they walked down another flight of stairs.

"Say, what year are you in?" she questioned.

"Fourth," Oliver said.

"I'm in my first, but I'm turning twelve already next week," she chattered. "I'm older than all the other first years. How old are you?"

"Fourteen," said Oliver, wondering how one little girl could talk so much, or possibly have so much to ask.

"So we're only two years apart! When's your birthday?"

"August eighteenth."

"Mine's September eighth. That means we're only two years and… three weeks apart! That's neat. I haven't met any fourth years before. Is it hard?"

"I don't know, I haven't had a class yet," Oliver said, exasperation lining his voice.

"Hmm. I heard Flitwick is a nice teacher. Is he a nice teacher?"

"Yes, I suppose," answered Oliver, eyebrows raised.

"I hope he likes me," she said, and for the first time sounded nervous.

"I'm sure he'll like you," Oliver assured her. They stopped outside a door.

"Well, here's your class. Good luck." He dropped her bag and flashed her a smile.

"Thank you for walking me here—erm…" She frowned. "What's your name?"

"Oliver Wood."

"Well, thank you, Oliver Wood," she said, and smiled. "I'm glad to have met you." And she took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Oliver watched her walk in before hitching up his bag and making his way to Transfiguration.

By the time he got there, the class was halfway through. Oliver sighed and pushed the door open. The entire class, who had been scribbling out class objectives, turned to look at this new distraction with interest.

McGonagall's lips were pressed in a line. "And just where have you been, Mr. Wood?"

"I took a lost first year to class," he offered. Several people snickered.

"What was this first year's name?" asked McGonagall, as if she didn't believe him.

Oliver opened his mouth to reply, then realized something: he had no idea what the girl's name was.

"Uh… I'm not sure, Professor, but she has big brown eyes, blonde hair, about this tall" —he held up a hand to his chin— "was born on September eighth, wants to play Chaser next year, and talks incessantly."

A small smile passed over McGonagall's lips, much to the surprise of the class.

"You must have met Katie Bell," she offered in explanation. "I ran into her last night and wasn't able to get away for twenty minutes." She scribbled something on a parchment on her desk then said, "Have a seat, Wood."

"No detention, Professor?" he asked cautiously.

"Not this time, Wood," McGonagall said. "But the next time you decide to rescue a first year, make sure you know her name first."


	2. Of Chocolate and Quidditch

**Disclaimer: **It's all Jo's.

**Author's Notes:** Ah, part two, Oliver's fifth year. Mm... I hope you enjoy!

And, if you would, **review**. Make someone (me) smile today. ((winkwink))

_Alisa_

_**The First Day of Classes**_

**_((of chocolate and Quidditch))_**

_Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here!_

Oliver Wood opened a pair of bleary eyes and, flipping over onto his stomach, buried his head in a pillow.

_We'll guard the hoops and catch the Snitch for we are Puddlemere!_

Oliver wanted very badly to turn his blaring alarm clock off and just drift back to sleep, but the memory of last year's first day of classes flashed in his mind and he decided against it. (Besides, who would actually turn the Puddlemere United team anthem off? It was just so catchy!)

_We soar past Chasers and the rest until we're known as the very best!_

He threw back his four-poster curtains and put his feet to the cold stone floor—shivers ran up and down his spine. It took him only one moment to fly from his bed to the bathroom and another moment to end up beneath a jet of hot water.

_There's not a team we cannot crush, yes, give way for the mighty Bulrushes! _

Half an hour and twenty-eight progressively weaker rounds of the Puddlemere anthem later, Oliver stepped out of the bathroom awake, refreshed, and ready to go. Turning off his alarm clock, which was by this time only managing to hum hoarsely, he threw off his towel and quickly dressed in a fresh set of robes.

After combing his hair half-heartedly, Oliver took the time to stuff in his bag only the books he needed (Transfiguration and Divination) before slipping on his shoes and walking down to the common room. Today seemed to be shaping into an all right day. Minus the fact that he had to go to classes.

He greeted a few fellow fifth years, as well as third years Fred and George Weasley and Angelina Johnson, all of whom had been on the Quidditch team last year, as well as another third year, Alicia Spinnet, who had been a reserve. He had just waved hello to a sixth year on the other side of the common room when an annoyingly familiar voice reached his ears.

"Hello, Oliver! I haven't seen _you_ in a while!"

Plastering a grin to his face, he turned to face second year Katie Bell. "Hullo, Katie."

She grinned back at his less-than-enthusiastic greeting with gusto.

"I was—uh—headed down to the Great Hall," said Oliver, throwing a thumb behind him to indicate to the portrait hole through which the four third years had just passed. He hoped he would be able to get away before she began telling him about her holidays, which would ensure a missed breakfast, but it wouldn't matter as she said, "Oh, so was I! Let's walk together."

And she marched out of the portrait hole, Oliver trotting behind her like an old, achy dog. He sighed.

It wasn't as if he didn't like Katie, but all she seemed to do was jabber _on_ and _on_ about everything from Chocolate Frogs to football, and all things in between. She would tell him about how they had mixed her laundry with a sixth year's and she'd ended up with knickers that "would've fit a troll, honestly," about how she only managed to pass first year History of Magic because she was good at making up goblin names, and how she had been one of the only students in her flying class to raise their broomsticks on the first "up." It was as if she never stopped.

But Oliver still said hello to her in the corridors, and even sat with her and her friend Leanne at lunch once in a while. He played wizard chess with her in front of the fire when he had nothing better to do, and laughed at her jokes because they were funny. If she didn't talk so much, she would make an all right friend.

"Oh!" Katie suddenly exclaimed, and came to a half in the middle of the fourth corridor. She dug around in her bag for a moment before thrusting something into Oliver's hands.

It was a bar of Honeydukes chocolate in the shape of a Golden Snitch.

"Happy birthday!" she told Oliver. "Sorry it's a bit late, but I didn't know where to send it. But I thought you'd like it anyway."

She grinned uncertainly at him, and he smiled back (a true smile this time).

"Thanks a ton, Katie, this is really sweet of you," he said, genuinely pleased. (Chocolate and Quidditch, what's not to like?)

She grinned and ducked her head, blushing. "I didn't know what to get you, so I got a combination of everyone's two favorite things, chocolate and Quidditch, and reckoned you'd have to like it."

"I do like it, Katie, thanks," he said, still grinning at her embarrassment. A beat passed, then Oliver asked, "So, how were your holidays?" He mentally cringed.

"Oh, you know, practiced a bit of Quidditch with my Pa and read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ for the millionth and first time," she said, shrugging. "What about you?"

Oliver nearly forgot to answer in his shock. He had never heard Katie answer a question so simply.

"Oliver?"

"Hmm? Oh!" He flushed. "Mostly worked on plays for this year."

"Oh isn't that right, Mister Quidditch Captain," she said with a grin, and gave his arm a friendly punch.

Oliver grinned and pulled the badge out of his robes. It glimmered in the flickering torch light as he showed it off to Katie.

"Why, you're not even wearing it!" she exclaimed, and took it from his hands.

"Don't get fingerprints on it!" he was quick to reprimand.

"Oh hush," said Katie, who was now adjusting his robes and deciding where to pin his badge. Choosing the left breast area, she pushed the pin through the material of his robes and fastened it.

"There," she murmured, and polished the badge with the sleeve of her robes. "Now doesn't that look spiffing." She observed him for a moment, her robes still cleaning the badge, before her hand moved up to pat his shoulder.

She turned on her heel and began to walk toward the Great Hall again. Oliver caught up with her in three strides and heard himself asking, "Still going to try out this year, then?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"I have two Chaser spots to fill, so you have a fair chance," Oliver expanded. "Not to mention a Seeker I need to find."

"I'm sure you'll find who you need," Katie assured him. "You're an excellent Quidditch player, and I'm sure you'll be able to pull an excellent team together as well." She smiled up at him as they entered the Great Hall.

"You think I'm an excellent Quidditch player, eh?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes I do, but don't let it get to your head."

"Of course not," he agreed, seating himself next to one of the Weasley twins, the other across from his brother. Katie sat next to Oliver.

"Who's this you've got here, Oliver?" asked the twin next to him as he loaded his plate with bacon and eggs.

"George?" guessed Oliver.

"Over here, mate," said the boy across the table.

Oliver shrugged. "Weasleys, Katie Bell. Katie, Fred and George Weasley."

She smiled tentatively at the boys and they grinned identical grins back. She placed a piece of toast on her plate before leaning toward Oliver and whispering, "How d'you—?"

"Tell them apart?" he finished for her. "You don't. Just call one of their names and they both answer. Watch." He turned to the boys, who were having a whispered conversation over the kippers.

"Oy, Fred."

Both of the twins looked up expectantly at Oliver, who smirked, then asked, "Er… where's Johnson?"

Fred gave an exuberant sigh and pointed down the table to where a dark girl with long braids and another girl with brown hair sat.

"That's Angelina Johnson" —Oliver pointed to the girl with braids— "and the other's Alicia Spinnet."

"She was on the reserve last year," Katie recalled.

Oliver nodded and spooned some porridge into his mouth.

"She's quite good," went on Katie. "I watched her try out."

She took a bite of toast and chewed it thoughtfully before she swallowed and said, "Reckon she'll make it this year?"

Oliver swallowed. "I dunno. If we don't find anyone to fill positions I'll pull her up for sure, but maybe she's gotten better since last year."

Katie nodded and went back to her toast dejectedly.

Oliver watched her pick at her breakfast for a moment before sighing. "All right, what's wrong? You're so quiet this morning."

She gave him a sheepish look and said, "I'm nervous."

"About classes? Don't worry, second year's not that hard—"

"Not second year," Katie cut him off. "About making the team. I'm nervous about Quidditch try-outs."

Oliver nodded in understanding and put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't fret too much, just practice and you'll do fine." He paused, then said, "Why don't we go out to the pitch after classes and see what you can do?"

Her lips made an 'o' as she gaped at him.

"If you want to, that—"

"Of course I want to!" Katie cried, and threw her arms around him so suddenly and so forcefully he was nearly unseated. "Oh thank you, Oliver!"

Oliver peaked owlishly from within her tangle of hair and patted her awkwardly on the back, a nonplussed expression on his face. She pulled back, gibbering away her thanks, and stood. She gathered several pieces of toast, still chattering, paused to peck him on the cheek, then grabbed her bag and went off to "talk to Leanne. Oh, thank you, Oliver!"

George Weasley leaned over the table and watched as Katie walked away. Then he said, "She your girlfriend or something?"

Oliver choked on a lungful of air and sputtered out hoarsely, "N-no!"

"Oh." George leaned back, then shrugged his shoulders. "She looked like your girlfriend to me."

The Weasley twins shared a mischievous smirk.


	3. Of Talking Like Wind

**Disclaimer:** It's all Jo's.

**Author's Notes:** Oliver's sixth year, Katie's third. Hope you enjoy!

But wait! Have you made an author smile today? This would be the perfect opprotunity by **reviewing**!

Alisa

**_The First Day of Classes_**

_**((of talking like wind))**_

Oliver Wood was at his favorite place to be at Hogwarts—on the Quidditch pitch. The clear blue sky was above him, the luscious green grass below him, a pretty young girl beside him—

Oliver did a double-take. Indeed, a pretty young girl was next to him. Large brown eyes stared out at him and her tangle of hair blew out behind her like a blonde flag. Oddly enough, he noticed, his arm was around her waist, but he wasn't bothered enough to move it. He had the strange feeling that he'd met this girl before.

She began talking, and it sounded something beautiful, but he wasn't able to understand what she was saying. It didn't sound like words coming from her mouth; if anything, it sounded like the whistling in his ears when he's flying, and the Quaffle hitting his rough hands, and a Beater's bat making contact with a Bludger. She sounded like Quidditch.

Not understanding her yet understanding her, Oliver stared out at the expanse of empty sky in front of him. He had the most peculiar feeling about him that he just couldn't put his finger on.

Then he realized: he wasn't on a broomstick. He was in the air, but he wasn't on a broomstick. Panicking, Oliver looked around, and he understanding suddenly dawned on him. He was sitting in the middle goal hoop. A bit dangerous, yes, but so was riding a broomstick.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled the girl and her Quidditch voice closer to him by the waist. They were hip to hip and Oliver had never felt more comfortable. He closed his eyes and listened to her voice, the wind in his ears….

"_Oliver_…"

Her breath tickled his ear.

"_Oliver_."

The voice grew stronger.

"Oliver."

He wished she wouldn't be so loud.

"Oliver!"

Opening his eyes groggily, Oliver was met with a surprise: a pair of large brown eyes inches from his own. He gave a yelp and jumped.

"Ow!"

"Oh sodding—Oliver!"

Wide awake and blinking eyes that were watering in pain, Oliver saw two Katie Bells dancing in front of him, both sporting bruised foreheads and frowns. Squeezing his eyes shut, shaking his head, and then blinking his eyes open, he met the sight of one Katie Bell, red spot on her forehead and a bemused smirk on her lips.

He dropped back onto his bed with a groan; the mattress sank as she sat next to him. He rubbed tired eyes.

"Katie, what're you doing here?" Oliver asked gruffly.

"Waking you up, of course!" she exclaimed cheerfully, and from the four-poster next to Oliver's same the muffled shout: "Shut yer gob or I'll do it for yeh!"

Katie giggled at that. Oliver just nestled deeper within his blankets.

The springs shifted. Then: "Oliver."

He made a sound of protest in the back of his throat.

"_Olll_iver."

"No, Katie," he tried to say, but his voice died by the time he got to the second syllable in her name.

"Oliver, get _up_." That was very near his ear.

"I-I-I'm sleeping."

The mattress squeaked and shifted in protest for a moment, followed by silence. Then in his ear came, "Get up, you lazy bum."

Oliver cracked open one eye, then the other, and found himself staring at Katie's forehead. Lowering his gaze, he met her large brown eyes.

"Will you get up now?" she whispered; she wasn't sure why she had whispered, but it seemed right nonetheless.

"Why?" he murmured, throwing the blankets over her, trainers and all.

"We didn't get to talk last night. I want to talk." She was still whispering.

"We are talking," he muttered, his eyes drifting shut.

Suddenly he felt a prod to his stomach followed by a sharp, "Stay awake."

"I am awake," he said, blinking his eyes hard. But the feeling of her small hand against his waist was what really woke him up.

"How were your" —he paused to yawn— "hols?"

Katie drummed her fingers against his ribs as she thought. "All right, I s'pose. Played Quidditch, watched Quidditch, listened to Quidditch, read about Quidditch…."

"Any other things you did with Quidditch that I should know about?" he teased.

"She pinched his side, but grinned nonetheless. Sighing in what sounded like relief, she said, "I missed you."

Oliver's lips turned up in a faint grin. "Missed you too."

And as his eyes began to drift shut, he couldn't help but notice as an arm snuggled around his waist and a head rested beneath his chin.

_Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here! We'll guard the hoops and catch the Snitch for we are Puddlemere!_

Oliver woke with a start. He had been giving the strangest dream, in which he sat on the goal hoop with a girl who had a voice like the wind. It was an interesting dream, and he sort of liked it.

It was as his alarm clock was going on the third round of the Puddlemere United team anthem that he pulled his pillow closer to him and realized that it wasn't his pillow. It was Katie.

_Katie?_

"Aargh!"

Oliver was out of his bed faster than he could have said _Quaffle_, staring at the half-awake form of the third year girl. She blinked her eyes at him confusedly.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing in my bed?" he demanded.

She yawned before replying, "Good morning to you too." Her arms stretched high above her head.

"Why are you in my bed!" he demanded again, more loudly this time.

There was the rustling of bed curtains, then a hoarse voice shouted, "Shut it, Wood, or I'll shut it for you!"

Glowering, Oliver lowered his face to Katie's and whispered fiercely, "You're in my bed. _Why?_"

She blinked doe eyes at him, then said, "To wake you up."

He ran a hand through his hair and sat at the end of his bed. "Didn't work out too well though, did it?" he remarked.

"I s'pose not," Katie said, propping herself up on her elbows.

"So," said Oliver, his chin in his hands, "just _why_ were you trying to wake me up?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "I didn't get to talk to you after the feast last night."

"And trying to wake me up in the wee hours of the morning could be a good idea how…?"

"I dunno, it seemed like an all right idea at the time," she muttered, and sank into his bed. "Merlin, this thing is heavenly. I wish my bed was this comfortable."

Oliver shook his head and stood up; Katie buried her face is Oliver's pillow.

"Lord, what kind of shampoo d'you use, 'cos even your pillow smells good!"

"Katie, get out of my bed," said an exasperated Oliver.

"No."

He sighed. "Fine, but you'd better be out after I've taken a shower," he warned.

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," came her muffled reply.

When Oliver came out of the bathroom (fully clothed this time, thank you very much), Katie was sitting on the edge of his made four-poster, her nose buried in _Which Broomstick_.

"Wow, you made it and everything," he said, impressed.

Katie's eyes appeared over the edge of the magazine. "Percy Weasley kept giving me the oddest looks. I was only smelling your pillow. What?" (For he had given her an odd look himself.) "It smells divine. Does your head smell as good?"

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't know, I've never smelt my own head."

She rolled her eyes. "He kept asking me why I was here and I told him I was waiting for you. He didn't seem too keen on believing me." She shrugged her shoulders and turned a page of her magazine.

"That's because you're a third year girl in the sixth year boys' dormitory. Just a bit out of the ordinary," he said. She didn't look too bothered.

"He kept lurking, so I made beds."

"More than mine?"

She gestured to the six other beds, all of which were abnormally tidy.

"You're an odd one, Katie."

"But that's not all. Then he says, 'What are you, Wood's mother?' And I told him not even _your_ mother would pick out your clothes for you."

"But—you don't pick out clothes for me!" Oliver yelped.

"I know, but that made Percy leave," Katie said with a smirk.

Oliver gave an exasperated sigh and crumpled at the foot of his bed. He heard Katie give an impatient snort above him.

"Get your lazy bum up, Wood, I want to go eat," Katie demanded.

"Everyone's going to think I can't dress myself," was Oliver's muffled reply.

She gave an un-ladylike snort. "Like I give a niffler's snout about your bruised male ego—I just want breakfast before classes."

Reproachful eyes peered over the edge of the bed at her as Oliver said, "I can see just how much _I'm_ loved."

"We all love you, pity party for Oliver—okay, let's go!" she spurted quickly.

"Oh, how very sincere," he shot back sarcastically.

Rolling her eyes, Katie knelt down in front of Oliver and said in a concerned voice, "Now I know that may have hurt you a bit, me telling Percy you couldn't dress yourself, but Wood, this is Percy Weasley we're talking about. He has no contact with anyone other than Penelope Clearwater and the professors. I really don't think you have much to worry about."

She stood up briskly then added, "Up and at 'em, Oliver, eggs and bacon call!"

"Eggs and bacon…," he repeated slowly, contemplating. "All right," he decided.

Oliver accepted Katie's hand and they walked to the Great Hall together, never mind that Percy had just let "slip" to his little brothers Oliver's clothing secret, that odd look still on his face.


	4. Of Pulling Out Chairs

**Disclaimer:** It's all Jo's.

**Author's Notes: **Huzzah for the return of the divider line! Anyway, this is Oliver's seventh year and Katie's fourth. There should be one more chapter after this, so we're not done yet!

I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to **review**.

Alisa__

**

* * *

**

**_The First Day of Classes_**

**_((of pulling out chairs))_**

_The invention of the Golden Snitch is credited to the wizard Bowman Wright of Godric's Hollow. While Quidditch teams all over the country tried to find bird substitutes for the Sniget, Wright, who was a skilled metal-charmer, set himself to the task of creating—_

Oliver Wood snapped the book he had been reading—_Quidditch Through the Ages_, of course—shut and gave an impatient sigh. When Katie Bell has asked him to wait for her this morning, she hadn't mentioned sitting in the common room for half an hour while she was in the girls' dormitory doing Merlin-knows-what.

Shifting his feet in his trainers (they were new, and has that never-been-worn stiffness that Oliver hated), he flipped the book over a few times in his hands, as if contemplating reading it but was unsure. He peered at the girls' dormitory once more before cracking open the book.

_—Wright, who was a skilled metal-charmer, set himself to the task of creating a ball that mimicked the behavior and flight patterns of the Sniget. That he succeeded perfectly is clear from the many rolls of parchment he left behind him on his death (now in the possession—_

Oliver sighed. He couldn't concentrate, not this early in the morning. Instead he contented himself with opening and closing the book, enjoying the new-book crackle the binding made.

After a few moments, though, he was mildly concerned he might lose the new-book crackle if he was at it too long, so he chose to rather stare at the inscription on the first page under Kennilworthy Whisp's name.

_Happy 17th, Oliver!_

_Love, Katie_

He remembered the day Katie had given him his own copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ as a gift. It had been August eighteenth, his seventeenth birthday.

Oliver woke up that morning to his mother's voice hissing in his ear, "Oliver, there's a girl for you in the parlor! You'd better get up because I am most certainly _not_ entertaining _your_ guest while _you_ sleep the day away!"

He stumbled out of his bed at that, out of his room, down the hall, down the staircase, through the kitchen, and into the parlor, where he found a sooty Katie Bell sitting on his couch, holding a package and looking about curiously. When her eyes landed on Oliver, the package was quickly discarded and her arms were thrown around his neck painfully. He had to lean down so she wouldn't crack anything.

"Happy birthday, Oliver! I just had to come and see you—I mean, your seventeenth!—so I Flooed over and your mum told me you weren't up but I suppose that figures 'cos it's only eight in the morning but I couldn't possibly wait any longer to give you your gift so here I am!"

She took a deep breath, detached her arms from his neck, and thrust the package in his hands.

Oliver blinked, ran a hand through his wildly tousled hair, and said in a voice thick with sleep, "Hello, Katie."

Katie gave a soft of relieved sigh and replied, "Hello, Oliver." A soft grin flickered across her face.

They sat down on the couch and Katie explained herself more clearly, juggling the package hand from hand the entire time. Once she had finished, and Oliver was more awake, she pushed the package to him.

"Happy birthday, Oliver," she repeated with a smile.

Oliver looked at her curiously before opening the gift. What was inside made his breath catch in his throat just a bit.

"_Quidditch Through the Ages_," he murmured before enveloping Katie in a hug which she was prompt to return. He pulled away and declared, "You're absolutely brilliant, you know that?"

Katie laughed at that and added cockily with an accompanying wink, "And don't you forget it."

They continued to chat for over two hours (Quidditch, holidays, Quidditch, Hogwarts, Quidditch, reminiscing, a bit more Quidditch), during which Mrs. Wood brought them scones and tea to munch on and Mr. Wood walked through the house singing the Puddlemere United team anthem at the top of his lungs.

When it was near half past ten Katie reluctantly insisted on Flooing home. Thanking her profusely, Oliver hugged her goodbye and told her he would miss her.

"I'll miss you too, Wood," she told him, taking a handful of Floo Powder. "Oh, and by the way—nice pajamas." And in a flash of green flame she was gone.

It was only then did Oliver realize he was wearing a purple and gold Pride of Portree shirt and too-small pajama pants with flying Snitches on them.

Shaking his head fondly in remembrance, Oliver closed the book and tucked it in his bag before turning, once again, to the girls' staircase. He decided he would give Katie five more minutes to come down before he left for breakfast in the Great Hall. He was quite hungry, after all.

Oliver didn't have to wait that long, however, as Katie came sprinting down the stairs not a minute later, her bag swaying awkwardly at her side and crashing into her hip with each leap. She came to a screeching halt only a foot in front of him, her bag swinging dangerously close to Oliver's face. She heaved an exuberant sigh before dropping her heavy bag on the ground (Oliver quickly pulled his feet up as not to be crushed by the bag), and then threw herself into the seat next to him on the couch.

There was the crackle of the fire for a moment before Katie said, "Sorry I took so long. Angelina and Alicia kidnapped me."

He turned his body on the couch to face her. "What would they do that for?" he questioned, curious.

Katie rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and explained, "They wanted to do my hair."

Oliver leaned back and observed her. What was normally just a wild tangle of blonde hair was now sleek and shiny and straight.

"I guess it does look different," observed Oliver, watching the locks swing around her ears as she shook her head.

"Do you like it?"

Oliver looked mildly anxious as he said, "What was that?"

"D'you like it?" Katie questioned again, gesturing to her head with a finger.

"Oh." He hesitated for a second before answering, "Yeah. It looks nice."

"Huh." She leaned back in the cushions. "You're lying, aren't you?"

Oliver grimaced. "Would you hate me terribly if I said I was?"

"Not _terribly_."

"I lied."

Katie sighed in relief. "Oh good. I don't like it at all either. It looks nice, I'm sure, but it took the girls half an hour to get it like this. There's not a chance I'll ever do it again."

"I liked your hair better before anyway," commented Oliver thoughtfully. "It was pretty."

Katie let out a clearly fake high-pitched giggle and said, "Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing me!"

Oliver chuckled and went to ruffle her hair, but pulled his hand back in surprise and disgust.

"What'd they put in there?" he asked, wiping his hand on his robes.

"Sleekeazy Hair Potion," said Katie, and grinned apologetically.

"But it's not supposed to be so… disgusting, is it?" Oliver wondered aloud, now wiping his hand on the armrest of the couch.

Katie fingered a lock of her hair. "That bad, is it?"

Oliver had to nod, his nose wrinkled.

"Angelina and Alicia got a bit—_overzealous_ with their work, I guess," she offered. "I think they had fun, with me being a Sleekeazy virgin and all."

Oliver coughed into his hand and said, "As undoubtedly interesting I'm sure your hair-product virginity is, I was thinking we might actually _eat_ soon."

"Eat? Thank Merlin, I'm ravenous. Let's go!" she cried and stood, pulling Oliver with her.

"Bags," Oliver reminded her, shouldering both the bags.

"Can't I carry my own?" said Katie, following him out of the portrait hole.

"Not today, no."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because I'm being chivalrous," Oliver replied.

"In that case," said Katie, "I expect you to pull out my chair for me as well."

Oliver chuckled and told her, "Only if the occasion calls."

Katie huffed. "But the only occasion that would call for pulling out my chair is a date!"

Oliver didn't say anything, just stared straight ahead with his eyebrows raised, a slight smirk on his lips, as if he was trying not to smile.

"Oliver?" Katie asked quietly, her voice low and serious.

"Katie?" Oliver replied back, his tone daring her to continue on.

They walked the remainder of the way to the Great Hall in silence.


	5. Of Being All Right

**Disclaimer: **It's all Jo's.

**Author's Notes:** The last installment of _The First Day of Classes_! Finally! I know this took a bit longer to update, but I put out _Coffee_ instead, so I'm not too guilty about it. I really tried to keep Katie's personality true in this chapter, and it was a little tough, but I think I did a fair job.

For those of you who haven't read my profile (and I don't blame you if you haven't--how often do you read the profiles?), I've got stories popping out of my ears right now, and I'm very eager to write them all, but the only time I really get to write is on the weekends. Which is quite unfortunate, because I'm going to be gone this weekend. I've got several Katie/Oliver ideas (_Private Practises_, for one; check out my profile for details), and the beginnings of a plotline for a bit of non-HP fiction, so expect something from me every once in a while.

But anyway, for those of you who have actually made it through this boring and utterly pointless AN, please remember to **review**! I really appreciate it!

Alisa

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**_The First Day of Classes_**

**_((of being all right))_**

Katie Bell, fifth-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Chaser on the Gryffindor House team, was currently nursing her second cup of coffee at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Across from her Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson were giggling about Cedric Diggory's bed-head.

Katie took another sip of her drink and sighed quietly. It was only the first day of classes, yet she was already missing Oliver Wood, her ex-Quidditch Captain and boyfriend, who had graduated the previous year. In her state of melancholy, her mind drifted back to when she had woken up this morning.

Her alarm clock—which had really been Oliver's, but Katie had nicked it as he had been packing his trunk—woke her up by a rowdy chorus of _Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here_. Katie's first conscious thought was that she really ought to be paying attention to Oliver's Quidditch game, but then she remembered he was only a reserve, and that he wasn't playing at all. Then she wondered why he wasn't up at all, and had gotten half-way up the boys' dormitory stairs to wake him up with a kiss and some jumping on the bed before she realized she wouldn't find him in the dormitory anyway. Oliver had graduated.

When this shocking, harsh reminder hit her, Katie sat down on the stairs and cried. She was found ten minutes later by Ron Weasley, who, in his alarm, called to Hermione Granger, who then informed Alicia and Angelina that their friend was blocking the boys' staircase.

All in all, not one of her better mornings. If only she had Oliver here to make it better!

But she didn't, and Katie consoled herself by pouring another cup of coffee and listening to Angelina and Alicia argue over which of the Weasley twins had better hair.

Katie was just finishing off her bacon and being told—amicably, of course—how difficult O.W.L. year was, when hundreds of dripping owls swooped into the Great Hall, bringing letters and packages to eager recipients. Katie wasn't expecting anything and was therefore quite surprised when a small tawny owl landed in front of her.

Eyes widened in curiosity, Katie relieved the owl of its burden and offered it the remainder of her bacon rinds. The owl helped itself to Alicia's pumpkin juice as Katie opened the letter.

_Dear Katie,_

_How's my favorite Chaser doing today? Not too stressed out after the first day, I hope._

_I'm doing good. Weather's grey (thought you wouldn't expect any less) and Quidditch is fantastic (though you wouldn't expect any less)._

_So, how was your first night back? Were there lots of midget first years to sort? And today's your first day of classes! All the professors will talk about is O.W.L.S., so you can reply to this letter then. And don't listen to a word those other Chasers tell you about O.W.L.S., they're not nearly as bad as they say._

_I know we've only been apart for eight hours as of now, around twenty when you get this, but I reckoned you'd like to hear from me your first day of classes. Unless, of course, you've finally noticed someone like George Weasley or Lee Jordan, in which case you'll most likely crumple this up and toss it in someone's bowl of cereal, leaving me to wallow in the pains of your rejection. But I know you wouldn't do that, you're too sweet._

_Right?_

_Of course. No need to worry on my end._

_And Katie, make sure you keep an eye out for the first Hogsmeade date, because I'll be there no matter what. I don't care if I have to fight my way through all thirteen other Puddlemere players and the coach, I'll be there to take you to Hogsmeade! And think, then you can brag to all the other fifth years that you're going to Hogsmeade with a graduate! Won't they be jealous. _

_But mostly, I just wanted to write and say that you shan't need to worry about a thing and that I miss you terribly already. It feels odd not to be going back to Hogwarts, so I'll just have to live vicariously through you. So make sure you harp the Weasleys a good bit, okay?_

_Love, Oliver XOXOXO (Mother insisted I add those, though I'm not sure why. What's a bunch of Xs and Os supposed to mean?)_

_P.S. Make sure you include your Quidditch schedule so I can come see all your matches (and see who you've found to replace me)._

_—Oliver_

By the time Katie finished reading the letter, she had tears pricking her eyes. Angelina and Alicia were watching her cautiously.

"You all right, dear?" Alicia asked gently.

Katie gave a choked laugh and hugged the letter to her chest, forcing herself to blink back the burning in her eyes.

"I'm quite all right," she said, and gave a great sniffle followed by a weak cough.

"You're sure, Katie?" Angelina urged quietly.

"I just miss him," Katie muttered, and was angry to find tears welling up in her eyes again. "But I'm going to keep missing him, so I've got to get it together."

Angelina and Alicia shared a concerned look.

"All I've been doing is sulking lately, and I'm not like that, and Oliver wouldn't want me like that," Katie said defiantly, more to herself than to the girls. "So I'm not going to be like that."

"Way to buck up, Bell," Angelina said enthusiastically. "Everything'll be back to normal in no time at all."

"Good," Katie replied, sniffling just a little again.

"But you know, Katie," said Alicia, leaning in a bit and speaking gently, "it's okay to miss Oliver. We all do."

Katie set her jaw and muttered, "I know."

Alicia smiled sympathetically and patted Katie on the arm. She continued encouragingly, "It may take a while, but someday it won't hurt as much. You'll still miss him just as much as you do now, but it won't hurt as badly."

"And you have us!" added Angelina brightly. "If you ever need anything, you have us to call on. Don't worry, Katie, everything's going to get better, I can feel it!"

Katie mustered her best smile. "You're both the best, you know that, don't you?"

The two girls nodded modestly.

"Ooh, and did I say?" Katie added, her smile becoming just a bit more genuine. "He's taking me to Hogsmeade!"

**FIN.**


	6. Extra Scene!

**Disclaimer:** It's all Jo's.

**Author's Notes:** Hello! Firstly, I'd like to say that this is just a little extra scene to go along with _The First Day of Classes_. It fits in between chapters three and four. Secondly, I'd like to thank -ShIvErInG sMiLe- for basically coming up with this sweet little idea. Hugs, dear! And thirdly, I'd like to remind everyone to **review**!

Alisa__

**

* * *

**

_**The First Day of Classes**_

_**((extra scene!))**_

Oliver Wood stuck a forkful of egg in his mouth and turned the page of the book he was currently reading, _Quidditch Through the Ages _(the library's copy, of course, as he didn't have his own). He was trying his hardest to ignore the girl who was hovering above his head, but it was proving especially difficult as she was smelling him again.

From behind him, the girl, Katie Bell, sighed contentedly and ignored the urge to bury her nose in Oliver's mussed hair.

It was just as Katie was inhaling again that Oliver snapped the book shut with such spontaneity that she choked on a lungful of air. Sputtering, she said, "Why so violent?"

Oliver gave her his fiercest glare. "Stop smelling my hair and I'll stop abusing books."

From a few seats down, a bushy-haired second year looked scandalized.

Katie tutted and sat next to Oliver. "I really can't help if you smell like—searching for a word… well, like something that smells particularly good."

"Thank you for the descriptive and inspiring compliment, I'll treasure it forever," Oliver deadpanned, reaching for his bacon.

"You know, if you didn't smell so bloody good, I'd kick you," Katie informed him, nicking a piece of bacon from his plate.

"Then it's a good thing I smell so good," Oliver said, before shoveling another forkful of food into his mouth.

She took a quick sniff of his robes and smiled. "It sure is."

Picking up Oliver's abandoned book, Katie spent the next five minutes in companionable silence with Oliver, munching on toast as he moved on to porridge.

"Good morning, all!"

Katie and Oliver's heads popped up at the sound of the cheerful proclamation to find a chipper Alicia Spinnet and a bleary-eyed Angelina Johnson seating themselves opposite them.

"Morning Alicia, Angelina," Katie greeted, discarding the book, which was immediately picked up by Oliver, who buried his nose in it eagerly.

Katie leaned over the kippers and said something to Alicia, which caused her to giggle. Alicia, in turn, informed Angelina, who gave both girls an odd look. Angelina, instead of partaking the girls' whispered conversation, chose rather to tuck into her breakfast.

Oliver, who had been reading his favorite part of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ (the bit about the Keeper) and missing his mouth with his fork in his concentration (his cheek was turning pink), failed to notice the conversation between Katie and Alicia over the table. What he did notice, however, was Alicia leaning over the toast and sniffing his hair.

He yelped and nearly toppled out of his seat, saved only by Katie grabbing a fistful of his robes. Huffing and adjusting his clothes, he demanded to know just what they were trying to do to him.

"Why, I was just seeing if you smelt as good as Katie said you did," Alicia explained. "And you do," she added.

Oliver gaped for a second before stating, "Come now, do you really think I want people smelling me all morning?"

Alicia raised her hands in defeat. "Fine, from now on, I'll leave the sniffing to Katie." She ended with an exuberant wink, to which Katie and Oliver both sighed exasperatedly.

Oliver turned back to his congealing porridge and noticed over his spoon that Angelina was observing him peculiarly.

"What is it, Johnson?" he sighed, laying his spoon down.

"You wouldn't mind if I smelt you as well, would you?"

Oliver raised his eyebrows at her.

"Well, it's just… they make you sound so wonderfully good-smelling and I'm curious," Angelina said.

Sighing in defeat, Oliver lowered his head. He heard three inhalations and three contented exhalations.

"Heavenly."

"Gorgeous."

"Bloody sexy."

Three heads turned to Angelina, who looked nonplussed and said, quite innocently, "What?"

Katie, looking bewildered, said, "You just called Oliver sexy."

"No, I said he _smells_ sexy," Angelina corrected.

Still looking slightly bewildered, but a bit more relieved, Katie muttered an "oh."

There was the clatter of silverware on gold plate as Oliver set his fork and knife down. Standing up, he said, "Well, I'm off to class. Practise tonight, don't forget." He picked up his bag and practically sprinted out of the Great Hall.

He had just reached the landing of the second floor when he heard someone calling his name. Spotting his pursuer, he had to do all he could not to hide. He thought he'd been more than all smelt out.

"Katie." He gave her a strained smile.

"Oliver." She paused, a bit breathless. "Can I just—once more?" she asked, offering him an apologetic smile.

Sighing, he gave a small nod.

He wasn't expecting her to bury her nose in his hair, and even less was he expecting her to throw her arms around him. But that's exactly what she did.

Startled, Oliver cautiously draped his arms around Katie. He could feel her breathing into his shoulder.

"Thanks, Oliver," he heard her murmur, and just like that she was out of his arms and disappearing down the corridor.

Oliver couldn't help but smile.

**FIN.**


End file.
